Those Wands Cry the Loudest
by alyssialui
Summary: Not all wands are loved as others. A collection of the PoV of wands, including Tom Riddle Jr/Voldemort's, Bellatrix's, Snape's and the Elder Wand. Currently: Severus Snape
1. Voldemort

_A/N: Not all wands are loved as others. A short fic about being a wand, in particular, Tom Riddle Jr's wand._

_Submission for:_

_****Pick a Card, Any Card Challenge: ****Nine of Diamonds: Write about a wand_

_**The Sorting Hat's Challenge: **__Which Spell would you most like to master? - Avada Kedavra_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

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><p>A wand chooses the wizard or witch. You could say then that a wand is alive. It has a mind and a soul, feelings and wishes.<p>

But afterwards, the wand is at the mercy of its owner. It has tremendous power but no longer has a choice in where it goes or how it uses it.

It can cast the simplest of spells. The happiest wand is used to levitate objects and to turn pincushions into hedgehogs for the rest of its life. It is used to alter dresses and to wash dishes. It is cared for and loved, polished and stowed away for safe keeping.

Not all wands are as loved as others. Some are used to do horrible things. Some wands would rather be broken than to continue hurting others. Some have to inflict pain, listen to the screaming of others as their owners squeeze their bodies tightly. Some have to control others, the light touch on them contrasting with the tight hold on the victim's mind. Some shine a green light to suck the life out of another. Those wands cry the loudest and the longest. Those wands are happy when their owners have died or disappeared. They are able to rest and never hurt another soul.

The yew wand was happy, safely put away and forgotten in drawer for the rest of its existence. It has had a hard past, its owner sadistic and crazed with power. It has inflicted pain with curses not even meant to be used that way. It has heard the screams of thousands, children and parents, men and women. It has taken more lives than it can count. Its owner would laugh in glee but the wand would mourn every time.

But suddenly one day, it was rudely disrupted and moved about. It had gone years without interaction. The last thing it had heard were the screams of a man, then a woman then a child, before it was left alone. Now, it was being shaken and jostled. Then it felt the familiar hold on its body, cold, thin fingers wrapping around it, and the warmth flew from the wand to the owner. The wand knew he had returned. The wand cried out as it had to do its owner's will again.

"Let me give our guest a proper welcome," its owner's voice rasped.

The wand wished it didn't have to obey but the magic rushed from its owner and through its core.

"_Avada Kedavra_." The light was green and the wand cried for the death of its newest victim, knowing it wouldn't be the last.


	2. Bellatrix

_A/N: Whereas some wands don't want to hurt anyone, others enjoy the darkness within them. The story of Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black's wand. This is another possibility where the wand who chooses an evil/dark person must also be dark. The wand knows since its existence who it wanted and who that person truly was on the inside, so wouldn't it choose someone just like it?_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

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><p>The black wand trembled in expectation for its next orders. It felt her soft fingers cradle every crook along its body as she turned him in her hand. It felt the surge of power as she spoke the sweet words and her magic travelled through its core. It laughed as the various coloured spells issued from its tip and struck their targets. It smiled with the screams that accompanied their contact.<p>

Its heart was black, as twisted and corrupted as its owner. It could still remember the trembling in its core when the small girl had entered the wandmaker's shop. Many little boys and girls came through the store before her, but the wand never chose any of them. They were not right, they were not worthy to wield it.

But she was. The wand had found a kindred spirit who it was sure would use it as it desired. The wand called down to the wandmaker from the high shelves, who handed him over to the girl warily. He was sure the wandmaker could feel the blackness that threatened to be released, but there was nothing to be done. The wand had chosen.

She attended school and mastered her craft, excelling easily at the mundane spells she was taught. Her spells got more evil and deadly as time passed and the wand continued to perform for its master, carrying out her will to perfection. The power which she exuded was euphoric. She fed its darkness as it did hers until they were one in the same.

Such as tonight. The wand could feel the joy which ran through its owner. She let out another mad cackle she spun around to hit another target. The wand accompanied its owner with a joyous high-pitched whistle of its own as the warmth of magic surged through it again, relishing the tortured scream that followed. It had definitely made the right choice.


	3. The Elder Wand

_A/N: The Elder Wand does not hold loyalty to any one wizard or witch. All it seeks is the most powerful owner who is worthy to wield it. Here's my next wand, the Elder Wand, who is constantly looking for someone more powerful to own it._

_Submission for:_

_**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments): **History of Magic Assignment #2 - Write about the Elder Wand and its thirst for power (the wand should be written in a personified manner._

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><p>The Elder Wand was hewn by Death from an elder tree next to a wide impassable river. Born from ancient magic, it was the most powerful wand in existence and no other could test its strength and ability.<p>

However, power always seeks power. The Elder Wand held no loyalty for any man or woman. It only craved to be wielded by the most powerful wizard of the land. It longed to be used for greatness and it would not tie itself down to one owner for the sake of righteousness.

It cared not for how it was used, whether for the light or the dark. It had no sense of morality. It had been corrupted from the beginning, made with the intent to deceive and tempt its first owner with empty promises. But they did not truly understand that the wand did not make them the most powerful. They were still mortal flesh and could still be defeated. Only the wand was powerful.

It passed through the hands of many wizards, hoping one day to find someone who was truly worthy of wielding its power. It conquered lands and rulers, many dying by its magic. It felt the power radiate within its core before striking its opponent. It listened to their anguished cries of pain and defeated. It laughed and celebrated, swelling with pride for another victory. And it outlasted every owner when they were defeated and it was used once more.

But the wand knew who its true owner was, the same one who had hewn it from the elder tree with power not even it possessed. He was the most powerful and the wand would go through all mortal owners until it was reunited with the great wizard once more.


	4. Severus

_A/N: The tiny light had returned after so long. Continuing this series with Snape's wand PoV._

_Submission for:_

_**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments): **Transfiguration Assignment #9 -Have a non-living object as the main "character" of your story._

_**Drabble to the Death Weekly Competition/Challenge: **Prompt - in the dark_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

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><p>It remembered a happier time, a time spent mostly in the dark, musty box it called home, but a time it treasured nonetheless. Every now and then, little thrums would warm its core, but quickly die out. Maybe this boy was its master, or this girl, it would think as tiny hands wrapped around its body. But alas, that was not the case and it was quickly replaced in its box.<p>

It was definitely surprised when his true owner entered the store. The heat burned warmer than no other before, and when the young boy's skin made contact, he felt the energy flow through him in all directions. But it was so confusing. The colours it felt were black and white, light and dark, sometimes a muddy grey but then separating into its two distinct composites.

It soon learned why the energy was so mixed as he spent more time with his master. The young boy was in a constant battle between right and wrong. There would be loud, angry shouting from a man and then quiet, loving whispers from a woman. There were many snickers and sneers from foes, but praises and accolades from friends. He was mocked and ridiculed, stepped upon and hurt by so many people, but there was this tiny light of good inside that refused to completely go out.

Because of her. It knew whenever she was nearby. The tiny light glowed bright with a slight green hue and his master was so soft and delicate. When his master and her spoke, it felt such warmth, and when his master actually used it in her presence, it felt like it could practically explode.

Then everything changed. She disappeared, and so did the light. It was cold in the dark, and all it saw was swirling blacks and blues when his master used him, blacks and blues swirling within. He learnt such dark and deadly spells it wished it would never have to use on anyone. But a few years later, it did and it cried for its victims. It never wanted to hurt anyone, but it had to obey to its master's will.

But then one day, something shocking happened: the tiny light came back. It was small, weak, barely a flicker, but it was there. It wondered what could have inspired this light within his master that had been extinguished for so long.

Then it felt a foreign, yet familiar presence and the tiny light turned slightly green, but paler than it remembered. It was like her, but not her. It heard its master say, "Potter," before the presence faded away but the tiny light remained.


End file.
